


Didn't Mean To Crash Like This

by Queelez



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-11 02:56:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18421383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queelez/pseuds/Queelez
Summary: Clint Barton meets one of his copycats.  (A way to try and use the MCU to setup for the supposed Hawkeye show)





	Didn't Mean To Crash Like This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [paperclipbitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperclipbitch/gifts).



> **queelez:** kate is introduced making fun of his shitty mowhawk and tattoo  
>  **paperclipbitch:** Obvs obvs obvs. Or she falls through his ceiling and THEN makes fun of his shitty mohawk and tattoo, despite concussion.
> 
> And then I wrote it.

The thing is, there’s actually a decent number of Avengers knockoffs and wannabe vigilantes running around.

Stark’s are the flashiest. Every few months there’s a new report about somebody who tried to replicate the Iron Man armor and wound up blowing themselves up. There’s also a fair number of news reports about people who tried to jump off of buildings with wings, not realizing the training somebody like Wilson goes through. There’s been a couple of wackos claiming to be the real Captain America, or people saying that they’re the obscure Norse God of whatever-the-fuck. There’s not really any copycat Hulks because, you know, _radiation,_ and everybody’s wigged out by him anyway. Nobody’s following in Natasha’s footsteps because of what she describes as _radical shifts to the geo-political scene,_ and what Clint describes as _pants-wetting terror,_ which usually gets him a smirk and a punch.

And then there’s the Hawkeyes.

Because while being Iron Man or War Machine or Falcon requires technology and being Cap or Tash needs training, _supposedly_ anybody with a bow and arrow can do what Clint does. After New York, interest in archery went up, and Stark tells him that there’s still spikes in bow sales and shooting range attendance when the Avengers make public appearances. Mostly, his copycats fizzle out after a week or two. SHIELD keeps tabs on them, finds the stories about some dumbass getting shot in the arm with an arrow and heading to the ER. Clint sort of likes hearing about them, even if they’re mostly kids who watched too much Hunger Games.

He just never expected to meet any of them. Or for one to crash through his ceiling.

One moment, Clint’s watching _Real Housewives Of Miami_ with a mangy dog on his lap (not his, but it followed him home two days ago and he hasn’t gotten around to shooing it away), then he starts to hear some scampering in the apartment above him. He has barely enough time to remember that nobody lives there before he hears a muffled woman’s voice go “Oh, shit!” and part of the ceiling collapses in a shower of plaster, dust, and wood.

Clint yells and jumps up, shoving the dog off of his lap, who whines and races as far away from the mess as possible. There’s a blur of purple that falls down and lands with a painful-sounding thump on the floor. The figure doesn’t move. Clint edges closer and looks: teenager, dark hair, purple pants, purple shirt, purple bow - 

“Uh,” he says. “You okay?”

The girl groans and looks up at him. “What the fuck is that mohawk?” Clint runs his hand through his hair. He likes the mohawk, it’s cool. When the girl sees his arm, she just laughs.

“Do you have a _skull tattoo?_ Holy shit, could you look more like a deadbeat dad?”

“You’re really rude for somebody who just fell through my ceiling,” Clint says, extending a hand. The girl takes it and allows herself to be pulled to her feet, but there’s a sharper tug than he was expecting. She’s not just some cosplayer.

She looks up at the pretty impressive hole she made in the ceiling. “Yeah, uh. Sorry about that. I was investigating something upstairs, and it’s real sketch. There isn’t a floor up there, I think the landlord’s in with the mob. Sorry for bothering you, I’ll just - “

“No you don’t.” Clint grabs her arm, feeling both offended and a little bit protective. He’s never been able to talk to one of his copycats, and he’s not about to let the chance go that easily. “I could stop you, you know.”

The girl snorts. “Come on, it’s just a little B&E, lighten up. No reason to call the cops.”

“I meant like, shut you down. Legally. You’re stealing my shtick.”

The girl blinks. “Wait - “ She gives him a quick once-over, and her eyes widen with shock. “No shit, _you’re_ Hawkeye?”

“Yeah.”

“The Avenger.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Your landlord’s with the futzing _mob_ and you didn’t notice? Wow, you’re more of a dumbass than I thought you were.”

“Hey.” Clint snaps. He lets go of her arm, shoving a finger in her face. “I’ve been busy saving the world, Girl-Hawkeye.”

“It’s Kate. And you’ve been busy watching trashy TV. I’m going back upstairs.”

“I’m coming with you,” Clint says, turning to head into his room. “Lemme get my bow.”

He doesn’t see Kate roll her eyes, but he does hear her sigh.

“Hey!” She calls. “Can I pet your dog?”


End file.
